


Reflections of the Queen

by cvioleta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, One Shot, Romance, beautiful golden fools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 16:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvioleta/pseuds/cvioleta
Summary: One-shot.  Set in episode 7.03, Cersei reflects upon the past as Jaime sleeps.





	Reflections of the Queen

              Cersei lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of Jaime’s breaths as he settled into a deeper sleep.  He had fallen asleep quickly, and she was grateful for it; if he hadn’t, he might have wanted to talk and she didn’t want that.  She wanted exactly what she had right now, silence save the sound of his breathing, darkness except for the pale traces of moonlight that illuminated the room, coolness except for the warmth of his fingers touching hers.  Quiet and peace and time to think, to prepare, to plan for all that lay ahead. 

              Or not to think.  To just _be_ , something Cersei had never appreciated until recently.

              In the near darkness, she could just see the silhouette of Jaime’s profile.  He used to have the fact of a nobleman, the face of someone who, despite his battles, had always been a little too protected from any real hardship.  He’d been a man who always had a hot bath waiting for him, a servant to massage his shoulders and polish his boots, a stableboy to take his mount from him so that he wasn’t delayed in getting to his wine and his dinner.  Not that she thought less of him for any of that; they were wealthy, had always been wealthy, and it was the natural order of things.

              And then he was gone…gone for so long that she had started jittering apart internally, though she’d never have admitted that to a soul. Deep down, she knew he was alive and she knew he would never deliberately stay apart from her, but as the months stretched into years, something inside of her started to crack and melt.  She told herself it was ludicrous, _she needed no one,_ she was a lion, a Lannister, someone who need bow to no one, who lacked the vulnerabilities and weaknesses found in other Houses.  And so Cersei continued on, and told herself _he will come back_ , even when others told her he surely must be dead and the nights stretched out interminably as she starved without him, like a plant that couldn’t see the sun.  Wine dulled the pain; so did batting around the emotions of the naïve fools she was seemingly surrounded by…Lancel, her ladies-in-waiting, that pathetic Stark girl…anything to distract herself from her ever-present nerves, her fear that she would lose him.   

              By the time Jaime finally did return, Cersei had passed through the pain and was numb. Two of her three children were as good as lost to her, her crippled embarrassment of a younger brother walked around as if he sat on the Iron Throne himself, and she had been controlling herself for so long that she couldn’t remember the alternative.  When he finally returned, when he finally walked in and said her name and she turned, it was like yet another cruel joke from the universe…yet another part of her once-glorious, golden past that had been senselessly destroyed.  He stood there looking like a beggar, shaggy haired and bearded, with rags wrapped over the bloody stump where his sword hand had once been, and he said her name, and the sight of him was more like a nightmare than the fantasy she had held to her heart…and she had said _nothing_.  And, truth be told, she felt nothing.  She had shut it all down to survive, and deep down she was...angry.  Yes, _angry_.  Angry at him, angry that he had been gone so long, angry that he had left her alone for so long that she had gone down this dark road into a place where she couldn’t feel anymore and just going through her days took all the energy she could possibly summon up.  Where had he been when she was falling and needed someone to catch her?

              She had persisted in her anger, in her numbness, until she saw Joffrey die at her feet and then all of her emotions had flooded back and broken her heart in two.  She needed Jaime then, needed him to be strong, but he wasn’t.  They were both a chaotic mess of need and grief and despair and fury and they had collided together once more, but wholly unable to give the other the stability each so desperately sought.  And so, disappointed, Cersei had pushed him away again, retreating back behind her cold exterior into her internal world of numb oblivion.  She’d snapped at him, treated him contemptuously, unable to get past the pain that was swallowing every part of her.  He couldn't help her, what good was he?  He wanted comfort too, and she had none to give.

              Cersei took a deep but quiet breath, not wanting to disturb him.  Oh, how she regretted those days.  There was so much time she’d thrown away as she lashed out at whoever was most convenient…and that had been Jaime, who was just as likely to lash out at her, sarcastic, sneering, wallowing in his own pain.  _We are too much alike,_ she thought.  Neither had been able to swallow their pride, to bridge the gap.  They’d paced around each other like jungle cats confined to a cage, seething and anxious, occasionally swiping nastily at each other with claws extended. 

              And then their father had crossed the line, telling Cersei she _would_ be traded to the Tyrells like a sack of gold coins, a payment for a valuable political alliance.  He smirked as he told her she wouldn’t be the first person dragged into the sept to be married against her will.  And she had worn the same smirk as she told him the truth.

              “Everything they say is true. About Jaime and me. Your legacy is a lie.”

              She hadn’t realized how good it would feel, how great a weight would be lifted from her shoulders when she spoke the words. Finally, she didn’t care.  She didn’t care what her father thought.  As crushing as it had been to realize her father would never value her as anything more than a trading piece, the relief she felt was indescribable.  Cersei strode from the room, knowing she would never care about pleasing him again, and went straight to Jaime and for a little while, it had been like none of the horrors of the past few years had taken place.  They were just Jaime and Cersei again, and cared about nothing in the world except each other.

              But the gods weren’t done with them; oh no, _not even close_.  The next year had been a blur of horrors; as though Tywin was striking back in vengeance from beyond the grave for her rebellion.  Cersei had taken his death hard, blaming it on Jaime for letting Tyrion escape, and then she’d made the wrong alliance, with the Faith Militant, a mistake that had almost cost her life.  She could bear the humiliation of her imprisonment and the scorn of the people who should have bowed down to her, but seeing that Tommen would never be the man his father was...that was almost too much to bear.  There was a voice inside of her that told her she had failed. The Lannister legacy _that she was responsible for perpetuating,_ had produced one son who was cruel and short-sighted, wholly lacking in the qualities that would make a great king, and one son that was timid and frightened to the point of sacrificing his own mother out of cowardice.  None of those tendencies had come from their father.  The persistent voice told her she had failed, failed miserably to bring forth and raise sons worthy of _being_ kings.   She had no logical counter to the voice, so she stuffed it away in the corner of her mind with all of the other things she dare not think about. 

              _Go forward,_ she would tell herself.  All you could ever do was go forward.  Soon it would be a week later and your feet would be healing up from the stones that cut into them as you walked barefoot through the city streets.  A month and the marks would disappear.  Everything, no matter how horrible, faded with time.  The sight of Joffrey with blood running out of his nose, dying in your arms.  The bloody stump where Jaime’s sword hand had once been.  The sneering faces of the peasants who threw rotten fruit at you as you walked among them.  Even the sight of your lovely daughter, the one perfect thing you had ever accomplished, lying cold and dead upon her bier.  Loss upon loss, sorrow upon sorrow, it had all piled up on top of the numbness and then she had become calm, because what more was there to lose?  Cersei had become absolutely calm and calculating and when the final loss came, exactly as predicted…how could she even be surprised?  She knew it was coming.  Her destiny was to lose all three of her children, just as the witch had told her so many years ago. 

              Now they were gone, and she had nothing left except Jaime, who she had almost pushed away forever.  Her fingertips twitched involuntarily against his and he stirred in his sleep but did not waken.  Her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light now and she could see his face more clearly, the lines etched there not just by the years but by pain and loss.  Jaime no longer bore the countenance of a prince; his face was now that of a warrior, not a man who has lived an easy life.  They both looked tired and worn. Cersei would stare at herself in the looking glass, wondering what she would look like in five years or ten, if she was still among the living.  Euron had called her the most beautiful woman in the world, and despite herself, her heart had lifted, feeling for a moment like the young girl who had captivated every young man who laid eyes on her, so long ago.

              But Cersei was no young girl, and she knew the difference between flattery and truth. She always had.  Truth was Jaime, always there when she needed him, a set of strong arms to hold her tight, ready to fight for her, ready to kill for her.  The one person who would always stand with her, come what may. The one person with whom she could drop the controlled façade and just…be.  It was hard to think of herself as lucky with all she had lost, but Cersei was not without gratitude.  They were still alive, they were still together, and the crown of the Seven Kingdoms sat upon her head. 

              “I love you,” she whispered, knowing he was asleep and couldn’t hear it, but wanting to hear the words, and the acknowledgment that she was not alone.  She curled her fingers slightly around his and smiled faintly in the darkness. 

              They were Lannisters, and they would stand proud and together for as long as the gods allowed. 


End file.
